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Contrary to popular belief, Phil Coulson doesn’t love paperwork. He’ll do it, and he’s damn good at it, but it’s tedious, and time-consuming, and often not the most important thing on his to-do list. Coulson takes care of his agents. That’s his job. Everything else is window-dressing, as far as he’s concerned; essential to peak performance and optimal communication, but not the main objective.
And sometimes, it really gets in the way of the main objective.
It was a successful mission. Objectively, the target was acquired and eliminated, with zero casualties and minimal property damage.
That said, it was shit show.
The town’s main thoroughfare was under construction, so the roads were jammed and cacophonous with horns and squealing tires. The target got a headache from all of the noise and cancelled his afternoon appointments to take a nap in his office, and closed the window and his blackout curtains. The construction team misread their plans and damaged the fire suppression system of the high rise across the street, setting off the sprinkler system in the three floors that the beta team and sniper had chosen as vantage points, damaging the surveillance system and forcing them to go offline while they changed locations. And the target’s son got home from school early and headed straight for his dad’s office.
The surveillance team was climbing four flights of stairs to the alternate vantage point when the window for target elimination began to close rapidly. No comms, no eyes inside the building, no Plan B. Clint took the shot, through the closed window and heavy drapes, to the corner of the office where he could visualize the couch the target had laid down on. Through the bug planted in the room, he heard the breaking glass, the sick sound of the target choking on his own blood, and the slam of the door opened by over-eager little hands.
And the scream of a lost childhood.
It wasn’t the scream that rattled around in Clint’s head as he robotically gave his mission report in debrief. It wasn’t the light footsteps of a small child running down the hall. It wasn’t even the boy’s excited, aborted sentence mixed with his father’s last, gargling breath.
Clint gave his mission report in clipped, objective sentences while his mind repeated and distorted and mocked Coulson’s words: “Target eliminated. Successful mission.”
Successful mission. Successful mission. Clint eliminated the target and the mission was successful. He killed a sex trafficker in front of a 7 year old boy and the mission was a success. He robbed another childhood and it was exactly what he was supposed to have done. And there was no other option, no voice in his ear giving him an alternative route or abort command, no one to voice his moral concerns to in the moment. It had to be his call and he made it. Successfully.
Members of the beta team gave their statements as Clint’s mind screamed away from him, leg bouncing under the conference table so hard he halfway expected someone from the lab below to file a complaint. He picked at the skin around his fingers, an old habit from before the circus taught him the value of his hands. Clint grimaced, forcing himself to tuck his hands under his thighs and grinding his teeth in an effort to keep from hysterically laughing or gutturally screaming, either of which would be sure to get him sent to psych for an eval. He just wanted to go home and shower and drink and maybe break something.
Maybe break himself.
Clint was jittering, Phil noticed. It wasn’t uncommon during a debrief--they were “mind-numbingly boring” as Clint so often reminded him--but he had been jittering since taking out the Venetian sex trafficker. The circumstances of the mission had been less than ideal, but everyone on their team had made it out alive and relatively unscathed, and the target had not. Mission success.
So why was Clint shredding the skin around his thumb with a level of attention and precision normally only granted to his bows and his targets?
When the debrief meeting came to a resolute close, Phil strode quickly to catch up with Clint, hooking a hand around his elbow and tugging in the direction of his office.
“Sir?” Clint followed obediently, mind clearly still preoccupied.
Phil unlocked his office door and pointed to the couch. “Sit.”
Clint hesitated, fingers fidgeting and muscles tense. “Did I miss something in the debrief, Coulson? Cuz I want to shower so damn bad right now.” He stayed standing, eyes darting around the room, head low.
“You’ve been off since taking the shot in Venice. What happened?” Phil sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms, peering at Clint. “What happened while we were off comms, Clint? What pushed you to take the shot blind?”
Clint, if possible, got even tenser, shoulders raising slightly with it. “Nothing, Coulson, it’s stupid,” he muttered. “Didn’t affect the job.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Come on, Phil, can’t you just drop it. It’s fine, I got the guy, didn’t I?”
“Clint.” Phil took three steps forward until he was right in front of the archer, and cupped a hand around the back of his neck, ducking to meet his eyes. “Look at me, Clint. I don’t care that you got the guy. I care that something is clearly upsetting you and it happened while I wasn’t in your ear to back you up.”
Clint muttered indistinctly, dropping his gaze again. Phil gently nudged his head back up with a thumb. “What was that?”
“His kid came in!” Clint’s eyes widened with the force of his voice, but kept going, his neck muscles coiled tight against Phil’s palm. “The kid was on his way to the office and the window was closing and you weren’t there and so I took the shot and then the kid just, ran in! I just stole that kid’s childhood, I might as well have held him by the shoulders and made him watch!” Clint ducked Phil’s hand and started pacing the office like a caged animal.
Phil stood and watched, heart sinking, as Clint raged and wound himself tighter and tighter. He had missed it. He'd seen a successful end to a crappy mission and written it off as done with, and now his agent, his... someone, was hurting for it. He thought back to the flight home, kicking himself for missing the now-obvious signs of Clint spiraling that had lead to this outburst of emotion and trauma.
“He was Seven. Years. Old. Phil. That’s how old I was when my old man killed my mom. I know what that shit does to a kid, I just fucked him up for life just like my old man did me. How am I any better than him, if as soon as I’m left alone for 3 minutes I go around doing crap like that? How, Phil?”
For a moment, it seemed like the archer had run out of steam, and he stood in the center of the carpet, staring at Phil. And then a gasp escaped his lips. And another one. And then his knees buckled and Phil had to surge forward to grab him before he hit the ground, hyperventilating. Phil eased them onto the couch and held Clint against him. He ran one strong hand down the archer’s broad back and curled another into Clint’s hair the way he knew he loved it, all the while whispering platitudes and reassurances in his ear and waiting for him to calm down enough to hear them.
“I’m sorry, Clint. I am so, so sorry that you were put into a position to make that call on your own. That shouldn’t have been on you; I should have been there, in control of the op, for every second. This is not your fault, Clint. You made the right call, you took that man out of the world and away from dozens of potential victims. You saved lives today, Clint. You did such a good job, and I’m so proud of you for making that call under those conditions. You can let it go now, Clint. Let me take that responsibility. It never should have been yours in the first place, let me take it back. Let me take it back, baby. I’ll take care of you. Let me take care of you, Clint.”
Phil planted a light kiss on Clint’s neck, then another one just behind his ear. A third to his temple. A fourth to the corner of his eye, absorbing a tear that refused to fall as Clint pulled back slightly from the embrace. Phil’s arms slid from around his body, one settling at his hip and the other cupping his jaw.
“Let me take care of you, baby,” Phil murmured, stroking Clint’s cheekbone and tracking the way his eyelids dropped for half a moment before focusing intently back on Phil. Clint took a deep, unsteady breath, cleared his throat a couple of times, and nodded hesitantly.
“Please.”
Phil ducked forward to kiss Clint oh-so-gently, chastely, lovingly, pouring reassurances in through his body language and enjoying the way the knotted muscles in Clint’s shoulders smoothed out. Phil pulled back to brush their foreheads together, and Clint whined lightly, chasing him, trying desperately to deepen the kiss, eyes still closed. Phil held him in place with the hand still on his jaw, gentling the move with a thumb across his cheekbone.
“Shhh baby, I’ve got you. You’ve been in control so well, for so long today; you can let go now. I know what you need. Let me take care of you, baby boy.” The endearment slipped out of Phil’s lips unwittingly, and Clint’s breath hitched, eyes blinking open to flick searchingly between Phil’s. Phil held his gaze steady, letting walls fall away to allow his earnestness to bleed through. Phil took care of his agents, first and foremost, and he cared for this one most of all. “Let me take care of you, baby boy,” he repeated, and this time when Clint leaned in to kiss him deeper, he allowed it.
Phil steadied the pace, emanating the control he knew Clint needed from him. Clint clutched at Phil’s lapels like he was afraid Phil might float away or disappear into thin air, which Phil countered with a gentle hand cradling his face and a solid, steady arm wrapped around his hip. I have you, I’ll support you, I’ll catch you if you fall. I’m not going anywhere.
Eventually Clint grew restless again, shifting closer to rock against him and dragging a hand to the button of Phil’s pants. Phil intercepted the hand, breaking the kiss to press his lips to Clint’s wrist and then shifting it back to his leg. Clint stared at him dazedly, confusion and anxiety written across his face.
“Phil?”
“I told you, let me take care of you. You can let go, baby boy. I’ve got you.” Phil ran his hands up and down Clint’s toned sides, mourning the slight return of tension to his core, as an idea started to take shape. He needed to get Clint out of his head for a while, and too immediately for the longer trip home. His office was a familiar, safe space for both of them. Yes, this could work perfectly.
Phil gave Clint one last soft kiss and stood, pulling Clint up alongside him before he could take it as rejection. “I want to take you home and spoil you--until you believe you deserve it,” he said the last part pointedly as Clint wrinkled his nose, “but I need to finish some paperwork before we can go. Can you help me, baby boy?”
Clint blinked, still confused by the shift in activity, but nodded. He seemed more inclined to watch than to speak as Phil led him back behind the desk, but that was fine with Phil.
“You don't have to talk if you don't want to, baby. If you want to stop, you just knock on the desk, okay?” Clint’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He just stared at Phil, eyes lost in his vulnerable state, and Phil’s heart broke a little more with the implication of his surprise. “I never, ever want to do anything with you that you don’t want just as much, Clint,” he said firmly, holding the younger man’s gaze. “You don’t owe me anything.” Phil gave him a beat to process that, then added, "Do you still want this, Clint?"
Clint blinked and nodded, rasping out, “Yeah, Phil. Yes, sir.”
And oh, wasn’t that interesting. They would have to explore that later. But for right now: “Good boy,” Phil said sweetly, kissing him gently. “Now, do you remember what you do if you want to stop at any time?”
Clint knocked on the desk, crisp and loud.
“Good job, baby boy,” Phil praised again, and then sat down in his desk chair, pulling Clint close in his lap. They kissed lazily for a few minutes, until Clint returned to his loose, pliable state and started shifting on Phil’s lap again.
“Is there something you want, baby boy?” Phil asked, working to keep his voice steady. He had plans. Clint ground more purposefully onto Phil’s cock, and--
“Yes, Daddy.”
Oh.
Well Phil just had to kiss him breathless for that, biting his beautiful lips and sucking on his tongue with fervor until his brain came back on line and he slowed to a stop, breathing hard. He had a plan, damnit.
“You’re so good for me baby. So, so good, beautiful boy,” he breathed against Clint’s lips, voice considerably less steady. Clint whined at the praise, rocking against him once more before Phil stilled his hips firmly.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Phil admonished, holding Clint in place. “I need to do my paperwork before we have fun, remember? Will you help me make it go faster, baby?”
Once again, Clint nodded. “Yes, Daddy,” he said, smirking this time. Phil pursed his lips at his sass.
“Be good,” he chided, pinching Clint in the side. “Go get me a pillow from the couch, baby.”
Clint obeyed, swaying his hips more than strictly necessary as he selected one of the large throw pillows from the couch and held it out to Phil for approval.
“Perfect, baby,” Phil smiled approvingly, and gestured to the floor between his legs, just under the lip of the desk. “Can you put that right there for me?” Clint did.
“Okay, baby boy, here’s how I want you to help me. My paperwork is really boring and tedious, but it needs to get done, so I need your help to make it more enjoyable for me, and get me ready to have fun with you, okay? I want you to kneel on the pillow under the desk right here,” he pointed, and Clint dropped to his knees almost immediately, gaze heated as he shuffled into place.
“So perfect for me, Clint. Such a perfect little boy. You wanted my cock earlier, right?” Clint nodded quickly, already reaching for Phil’s fly. Phil hummed disapprovingly, stopping his hands for the second time. “Listen, baby. You need to wait and listen to what I’m telling you. Now, my cock is ready for fun, but I don’t know if it will stay that way while I do paperwork, so I need you to keep it warm for me. Can you do that, baby? Can you keep my cock warm in your mouth while I finish my work?”
Clint was practically drooling, and he had to swallow hard before he could choke out, “Please, Daddy. Please can I keep your cock warm?” His fingers were digging into his jean-clad thighs in an effort to keep from reaching for Phil.
“Of course, baby. But remember,” he stopped Clint’s hands a third time, simply holding them in place at his crotch as Clint truly whined like a little boy. “I can’t have you distracting me or this is going to take a very long time, so I just want you to hold it, baby. Just keep me warm for later, okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Clint’s fingers flexed against Phil’s slacks.
“Now,” and Phil’s self-control was officially on its last legs, but this was important, “what do you do if you want me to stop?” He released Clint’s hands and a sharp knock came from under the desk. Phil couldn’t help but lean down and kiss him, short but deep, sucking hard on his bottom lip. “Good boy. Go on, now, baby. Take what you want.”
And with that, Clint’s hands sprang to Phil’s fly, releasing the button, hook, interior button, and fly in a matter of seconds to tug Phil’s boxers down and release his full-mast erection. Phil spread his legs wider, inviting Clint to box himself in by them as the man carefully tipped Phil’s cock down to his lips and slowly enveloped him in soft, wet heat.
Phil inhaled sharply and exhaled very, very slowly, wrestling down the urge to fuck his way into the man’s mouth with abandon. He did have paperwork to do, yes, but more importantly, Clint needed this. He needed the safety of relinquishing control to someone he trusted with his life. He needed the soft intimacy and healing of revisiting and repairing his childhood self. He needed the time to just sit in someone else’s control and flourish, drift, relax.
Having firmly recaptured his resolve and self-control, Phil evened out his breath and reached down to stroke gently over Clint’s hair. Clint moaned and leaned into it as best he could, sucking lightly and fidgeting.
“Easy, baby boy. Just relax. You’re safe, you can let go now.”
Clint sighed through his nose and settled under Phil’s hand. Satisfied, Phil picked up the first manila folder off of the stack on his desk and opened it. Requisition forms, perfect. No higher thought required.
Phil signed the last form with a flourish, smirking slightly at the eyebrow it would raise in accounting. Phil Coulson is not a robot after all.
It had been almost 30 minutes since he had opened the first folder, and Clint had behaved perfectly through it all. He had shifted a couple of times, no doubt relieving his knees from the pressure, but he’d settled quickly under Phil’s constant hand sliding through his hair, always with a hum or sigh of contentment. He really was perfect. And Phil had officially had enough of the stack of papers in front of him.
“How’re you doing down there, little boy? I’m all done,” he called out, slipping his thumb down to rub gently at Clint’s forehead. With the other hand he cupped Clint’s jaw and neatly slid his half-hard cock out from between his lips. Clint blinked, eyes unfocused. Phil felt a spike of worry for a moment, before Clint’s eyes zeroed in on Phil’s cock in front of him, and his face broke out in a lazy smile.
“Awesome,” he whispered, almost reverently, ducking his head back in to suck Phil down again.
Hard.
Phil groaned loudly, gripping his hair tight in both hands as his dick filled back out rapidly. Clint wrapped his arms around the back of Phil’s thighs, wedging them further apart with his broad shoulders and pulling him in closer, moaning around the cock in his mouth. The sniper was on a mission of a whole new kind, on track to give Phil the fastest orgasm of his life, and holy fuCK was this a whole new skillset at which he excelled; Clint had been holding out on him.
But Phil was supposed to be taking care of Clint, not the other way around. “Clint,” he tried, tugging at the man’s short blond hair. That just made Clint groan and suck him harder.
“Clint. Baby boy. Slow down, baby,” Phil tried again, firmer. Clint obeyed slightly, slowing his pace, but he seemed utterly disinclined to stop. Phil sighed, endeared and annoyed in equal measure, and release one hand from the man’s hair to knock firmly on the desk over Clint’s head.
Clint stopped, blinked, and backed off of Phil’s cock. In fact, he backed himself as far under the desk as he could fit, back against the front panel. Phil swore under his breath, and slid off of his desk chair to kneel in front of the abandoned pillow.
“Clint?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry, I thought that was what you wanted, you said you were done with paperwork, I can, I should go, sir, I’m sorry.” Clint’s eyes were wide with horror and fear, staring at Phil like Phil had cursed him out in 3 languages.
“No, baby. No,” Phil sighed, settling onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath himself. “I’m sorry, Clint, I didn’t mean to startle you like that. It was wonderful, I just didn’t know if it was what you wanted. That was pretty intense, Clint, I wanted to check in before we moved on to anything else. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, reaching out a questioning hand to breach the space between them. Clint stared at the hand for a moment, gears visibly turning in his head, and finally took it, letting Phil help him scoot out from under the desk.
“Phil, I-- Coulson, I don’t…”
“You can call me Phil, Clint… Please, please call me Phil.”
Clint took a shaky breath. “Phil… Phil. I’m sorry, I should have stopped. I was… I was afraid you were done with me. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
Phil tilted his head, squeezing the hand he still held. “No, bab--No, Clint. No. I don’t think that’s even possible,” he murmured. “You were being so perfect for me, Clint. You just hadn’t talked in a while, I wanted to make sure you still wanted this… Do, do you? Still want this?” He asked with an uncharacteristic amount of hesitation.
Clint finally looked up from their joint hands. “Phil.” His voice was raw, and thick with emotion. “I… I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more in my life. You’re--You make me feel, safe,” he whispered the last word, “In a way I don’t know if I’ve ever felt. I---You’re my favorite person, Phil. Please.”
Phil took a deep breath and held it for a moment, smiling a real, bright smile, and then surged forward, hauling Clint in for another, but very different, kiss.
Clint met him halfway, fingers scrabbling at Phil’s tie, his lapels, the collar of his jacket, tugging and shoving until they were on the floor. The same floor they were rather uncomfortably sitting on.
Phil prodded Clint’s thighs. “Up,” he tugged, pulling himself up by the lip of the desk. He picked up the jacket and tie, draping them both over the desk chair, and began calmly unbuttoning his dress shirt under Clint’s dumbstruck stare. Phil raised an eyebrow at him.
“Well?” He looked pointedly at Clint’s own henley and jeans, and the agent sprang into action, fumbling them off uncoordinatedly. Phil gave him another full, genuine smile as he narrowly avoided falling on his face trying to take his pants off before his boots, and righted him with a hand on his shoulder.
“We’re on mandatory leave. We have time,” he said, bemused. Clint just huffed and rolled his eyes.
“That doesn’t mean I want you any less than right the fuck now,” he snarked back, and then processed the fact that Phil was down to his black boxer briefs. And so was Clint. How ‘bout that.
Phil gave him an amused little half-brow raise, feeling satisfactorily back in control. He skirted around Clint to the sofa, settled down with his legs spread, and gave the agent his sternest Come Here Right Now look. As soon as Clint had taken the two steps into arms’ reach, Phil took his hand and yanked him right onto his lap, so Clint’s legs splayed across Phil’s hips and their hard lengths pressed directly against one another. Clint groaned and dropped his head onto Phil’s shoulder, cursing.
“Fuck, sir,” he muttered into Phil’s shoulder.
His eyes had closed on contact, but he couldn’t have missed the aborted buck Phil’s hips made at the title. Not a chance. Clint’s head snaked up slowly, eyes flicking between Phil’s eyes and lips.
“So it’s like that, huh Sir ?” He smiled wickedly. “Or do you prefer Daddy ?” He punctuated the name with a fierce grind of his hips down on Phil’s painfully hard cock, and gods above, this man was going to kill him .
Phil growled, really and truly growled, “I’ll show you Daddy,” and then wrapped deceptively strong arms around Clint’s hips and lifted , muscling his way to standing and laying Clint out across his perfectly organized desk mat like a Thanksgiving feast.
Clint m o a n e d.
Gratifying, really.
Phil Coulson had made a name for himself in S.H.I.E.L.D. by performing every task and fulfilling every assignment that crossed his desk To The Letter, and this task was no different. As soon as Clint’s pert ass made contact with the leather blotter, Phil was on him like a starved man. He plastered his entire body against Clint’s, hips to shoulders, and fucked his tongue into the man’s mouth with the same level of precision and skill that he demonstrated with everything else on his desk; then he drew back, nosed down Clint’s neck to his collarbone, and bit down. Clint bucked up against him, grinding against Phil’s stomach through his cotton briefs in a desperate attempt for friction, and wound his thick thighs around Phil’s waist to reel him in.
Phil straightened up, looking down at the debauched mess of the world’s best marksman sprawled across his desk with a heady mix of lust and disapproval. Clint whined at the loss of contact and propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out to Phil with the other hand, to no avail.
“Come on, baby boy, you know better than to behave like that. When we want things, we ask for them. Nicely,” he chastised, punctuated with a sharp pinch to Clint’s nipple that had him whining and arching up into Phil’s hand, sputtering apologies and expletives.
“Shh, it’s okay baby,” Phil soothed, drawing the hand down Clint’s stomach and up his side firmly. “I know you won’t do it again. Can you show me how a good little boy asks for something he wants?” The hand on Clint’s stomach trailed over tensed and well-defined abs, past his belly button, and settled right at the waistband of his briefs, scraping the sensitive skin there ever so lightly. Clint groaned and threw a hand over his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily.
“Fuck, Phil. Holy shit.”
Phil dug his fingernails into the skin of Clint's stomach, scratching hard enough to leave delicious white lines that quickly flooded red. Clint moaned, and then whined again as Phil’s hand stayed just shy of where he needed it.
“That’s not how you ask, baby boy. Do you remember your manners, or are we going to wait here until you do?”
Phil could see the cogs in Clint’s head grinding, even as he kept Clint’s hips from doing the same. The archer had a lot of pride rolling around inside of him, and not enough trust, and it had suddenly become Phil’s most important mission yet to gently tip those scales. He started stroking down Clint’s sides again to help him settle, and, because he couldn’t help himself, bent down and pressed a kiss, feather light, on Clint’s beautiful stomach, just below his heart.
Clint whimpered, and that was it.
“Please, Daddy.”
Phil smiled sweetly, and pressed another kiss to Clint’s stomach, firmer and lower down. “Please what, baby boy?”
Clint squirmed under Phil’s firm hands, eyes desperate and shoulders curled. “Please can I have your cock, please will you touch me, please will you stop being so far away Daddy, I don’t like it, I want to kiss you, Daddy, please!”
Phil dropped down suddenly to deliver the requested kiss, wrapping his beautiful boy in his arms and cooing between kisses, “Good job, baby. You did so good, I’m so proud of you for asking for what you want, baby boy. You’ll get what you want, I promise. Anything for my perfect boy, you just need to ask for it.”
Clint was moaning earnestly into the kiss, arms wrapped around Phil’s neck like he was afraid to let go, and maybe he was.
“Oh, my sweet boy. Did you just need to be held?” Phil murmured into the crook of Clint’s neck. He felt more than saw Clint’s stuttered nod, the way he was curling himself into Phil like an actual little boy.
“Okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m not going to go anywhere again, okay?” Phil soothed, petting Clint’s hair as an idea came to him. He traced one hand down to Clint’s ass, pulling his briefs down and squeezing one cheek. “I can think of something new and wicked to do to you when you’re being naughty, would you like that?” He patted Clint’s ass suggestively, and Clint rolled his hips against nothing, groaning.
“Yes, Daddy. I would like that a lot better, thank you Daddy,” he said in a rough voice that went straight to Phil’s cock.
“There’s my sweet little boy,” he said, sucking a decidedly non-regulation hickey into Clint’s shoulder, opposite the bite mark. “I want to taste you, baby; will you let me taste your pretty little ass?”
“Yes, please, Daddy,” Clint gasped, doing his best to finally wriggle out of his underwear. Phil chuckled, pulling it down and off of his legs for him before doing away with his own, and sliding into his desk chair.
“Eager, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The desk chair put Phil at the perfect height, face to face with a beautiful expanse of skin and a trembling inner thigh draped over each shoulder. Phil dropped a kiss on each thigh, taking a moment to suck another deep hickey into the second one and enjoying the way Clint whined at the tease. Phil scooted to the edge of the chair and wrapped his arms around Clint’s thighs, blew cool air over his quivering hole and darted his tongue out for a quick kitten lick at the base of his walls. Clint’s thighs threatened to close on Phil’s head, and he whispered a delightful little “please Daddy,” and Phil had no choice but to give his boy what he wanted.
Phil flattened his tongue out and licked a long stripe from Clint’s ass to his balls, sucking lightly at the top. On the way back down, he pressed his tongue firmly against the man’s perineum, mentally cataloguing his deep groan in his already detailed folder of Clint Barton: Sex. He circled his tongue around Clint’s hole before dipping it in, much like he had into Clint’s mouth earlier. Every reaction Clint made, as Phil licked, sucked, probed, and nibbled and the delicate skin of his asshole, was neatly filed into Phil’s analytical mind, and immediately applied towards his efforts to make Clint forget his own damn name. It was working pretty well so far.
By the time Phil’s tongue started to wear out, Clint was a writhing mess beneath him, sloppy and open, gasping out a medley of curses, prayers, and Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Phil pulled his tongue slowly out of Clint’s hole, grazing his teeth against the rim just to watch him shudder and choke out an aborted wail, and opened his third desk drawer for the small bottle of lube he kept there for late nights.
Clint dragged his head up off the desk at the sound of the cap pop, and immediately dropped it back down to thud on the desk mat, groaning loudly. Phil quickly lubed up two fingers, settling Clint back down with the other hand on his chest.
“Are you ready baby?”
Clint wiggled his ass towards Phil, drawing his knees up and putting his hole on display in all of its spit slick, sucked red, wide open beauty. He looked Phil dead in the eyes and, in his best Boy Scout Altar Boy voice, said “Yes, Daddy. Please put your fingers in my stretched out hole.”
And then he bit his lip.
The little shit.
But Phil was all about rewarding good behavior, even if not done in the spirit of the law, so he slid two lubed up fingers into Clint with no further warning, pressing up to the second knuckle and biting down on the junction between Clint’s inner thigh and his leaking cock as Clint jackknifed into him and shouted.
“We’re going to get written up if you can’t quiet down, little boy,” Phil said reprovingly against Clint’s thigh, fingers pumping slowly in and out of Clint’s ass as Clint panted beneath him. Clint just whined, gasping up at him helplessly.
Phil hummed in consideration as he scissored his fingers and just barely grazed Clint’s prostate. The younger man moaned beneath him, eyes rolling back for a moment, but before he could regain his bearings, there was a sharp crack as Phil swatted his left ass cheek. Clint groaned even louder than before, guttural and raw.
So that’s how it was then.
“Clint, if you keep misbehaving when I’ve told you to keep your noise level down I’m going to have to punish you,” Phil warned, not at all threateningly. Without removing his fingers, he leaned down to retrieve Clint’s briefs from their landing place on the floor, just in case. “Are you going to be good for me, little boy?” he asked, voice pitched deep as he lubed up a third finger.
“I’m-- I’m trying, DadDY,” Clint broke off in another loud moan as Phil pressed the third finger in without breaking rhythm. Strike three. Phil stilled his fingers, waiting for Clint to look up at him. Clint whined as he did, clenching around Phil’s hand.
“I told you, baby boy, I told you I would have to punish you if you couldn’t keep it down.” Clint’s breath hitched, pupils blown black as he lay splayed across Phil’s desk, hanging onto his handler’s every word. Phil eased his fingers out and tucked his other hand under Clint’s shoulder, helping him sit up.
“Off the desk now, baby, there you go.” Phil searched Clint’s eyes as he steadied him on his feet. “I’m not angry, I just need to help you learn, baby. Do you want a kiss first?” he asked gently, cupping Clint’s face again. Clint’s gaze fell resolutely on his toes, but he nodded.
“Yes please, Daddy.”
Phil smiled at his sweet boy, and tenderly kissed his sinful lips, stroking along his cheekbone as he did. When he broke the kiss, Clint’s eyes fluttered open, and he whispered, “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Of course, baby. You can always ask for a kiss if you want one, okay? Now,” Phil brushed his lubed fingers over the tip of Clint’s cock, and his breath hitched, “your job is to stay ready for me during your punishment. I’ll give you a little bit of help, but I want you to try to stay nice and hard for me. Do you think you can do that?”
Clint smirked a bit. “Yes, Daddy.”
Phil nodded once, sharp, and whirled Clint around to press chest-first on the desk, ass on display. The first crack against his left ass cheek came immediately after.
“Hold onto the edge of the desk for me, baby,” Phil ordered, guiding Clint’s hands up over his head to cling to the far side of the desk. The long line of his back was on sharp display, all hard-earned muscles and tanned lines. Phil smoothed over it with one hand, appreciating the firm muscles coiled beneath the skin, and then pressed his torso along the same path, bringing his mouth right up against Clint’s ear.
“I have something for you, to help you be good for me. Open wide, baby boy,” he murmured, and piled Clint’s underwear into his mouth, already damp with precum. Clint moaned immediately, but the sound was dampened by the fabric on his tongue.
“Do you remember what to do if you want to stop?” Phil asked, bending down so Clint could see his face. Clint released his death grip of the desk with one hand and knocked on the wood in front of him.
“Perfect,” Phil crooned against the shell of Clint’s ear, and brought his right hand down firmly on Clint’s ass.
The crack resonated through the air this time, uninterrupted by Clint’s muffled squeal.
“Eighteen more, baby, how’s that sound? Make it an even twenty.” Clint whimpered pitifully, but nodded against the desk.
Crack . Clint wailed around the makeshift gag, fingers clenching on the desk. Phil straightened back up, but left his left hand between Clint’s shoulder blades, maintaining the contact he knew his baby boy craved so bad.
Crack . Clint’s ass shuddered under the force of Phil’s palm.
Crack . Clint bucked his hips forward into the desk.
Crack . The strike hit at the base of Clint’s ass, right on top of the divot of his thigh, and he groaned into the gag.
Phil reached between Clint’s spread legs and thumbed at his balls, rolling them for a moment before giving Clint’s cock a single tug. “Good job, baby. You’re taking it so well. Fourteen more.” Clint whined as Phil’s hand left his cock, pressed up against the underside of the desk.
Crack . Phil’s hand, now coated with precum, left an extra sting in its wake.
Crack . Red bloomed across Clint’s domed ass.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Phil soothed his own stinging hand across Clint’s ass cheeks as the man let out a groan that became a sob. He stroked lightly across Clint’s back with his other hand, murmuring praise as he went. “You’re taking it so beautifully, baby. You’re more than halfway done. I’m so proud of you, my sweet little boy. You’re such a good boy for me, baby.”
Phil pressed one finger back into Clint’s lubed asshole, gently circling and worrying his prostate until his breathing hitched for other reasons. The next crack was accompanied by a muffled moan of much more pleasure than pain. Phil smiled and added another finger.
Crack . He scissored the two fingers, plunging them as deep as they would go, and curled them in time with the next--
Crack . Clint arched his back into Phil’s fingers, his hands splayed wide against the edge of the desk.
Crack . Clint started making choked off noises again, but this time it sounded like words, not sobs. Phil made out the vowel sounds of “Daddy” and smiled, dropping a kiss on the cheek he had just struck.
Crack . “I’ve got you baby, you don’t need to beg anymore. Only 5 more, and I’ll give you just what you need.” He dropped another trail of lube down the cleft of Clint’s ass, and pressed his ring finger back in to join the other two.
Crack . Phil did his best to vary the location of his strikes, never smacking down on the same place twice in a row, and Clint’s ass was a beautiful little rosebud beneath his palm.
Crack . Phil pressed his fingers up to the third knuckle and twisted his wrist. Clint didn’t even seem to notice the spank.
Crack. Crack. Phil dropped two more in quick succession, and then finally, finally ripped open a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it onto his own throbbing cock. He pulled his fingers out, lubed himself up, and lined up.
“One more, baby. Only one more.”
Crack . Phil brought his hand down firmly across both cheeks and then steadily pushed into Clint’s tight, blissful heat until they were pressed together, to the sound of a beautiful, steady moan. Phil dropped his forehead to the center of Clint’s back and both men breathed heavily for a moment, adjusting.
Phil pressed kiss after kiss up Clint’s spine, pausing to taste the sweat at the base of his neck and drag his teeth along his pulse point. Clint turned his head to meet Phil, and Phil traced his drool-slick lips reverently around the fabric still in his mouth.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, baby boy, because I want to hear what sweet words you’ve been bottling up in there,” Phil murmured sweetly, brushing his lips across Clint’s cheekbone and easing the gag out of his mouth. Clint let out a pitiful little mewl when it was free, gasping up at Phil. He worked his jaw for a moment, swallowed thickly, and whispered, “Thank you, Daddy. I’ll be good. Please, Daddy, please fuck me?”
How could Phil deny such a request?
Still pressed against Clint’s back, Phil slowly pulled out halfway, paused, and sank back into Clint, inhaling sharply because, oh, the build-up had been worth it a thousand times over. Phil gradually increased his pace, easing into a steady rhythm as Clint moaned and shifted beneath Phil’s chest. Phil pressed open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach, paying special attention to the sweet spot just below Clint’s hairline that could make him shudder on command as he steadily drilled into Clint from behind.
Phil continued to rev up his speed, thighs smacking against Clint’s raw ass as the younger man wailed and scrabbled at the desk until Phil laced their fingers together and held him there, a moment of gentle intimacy as Phil otherwise lost himself in the feral heat of Clint’s body.
Clint had been making the most delicious noises since the moment Phil had ungagged him, and damn it Phil could not wait any longer to taste them on his lips. He released Clint’s hands, barely pulled out enough to bodily flip Clint face-up on the desk, and then slid back in and resumed his pace in full view of Clint’s stunned and lust-blown eyes. Smiling wickedly, Phil leaned over and devoured Clint’s mouth, swallowing every delightful sound that passed his lips as one hand snuck up beneath his body and began relentlessly tweaking a nipple.
Clint was whining incoherently, the new position putting just the right pressure on his aching cock to speed him towards his climax. He clenched around Phil’s cock, urging him deeper into his tight heat as Phil slammed into his prostate with every stroke. Phil could feel his own orgasm tightening throughout his pelvis, and dropped one hand to Clint’s cock, jacking him off viciously as the other hand pulled him straight up by the nipple, and Clint was screaming “DAAAADDDYYYY,” clenching around Phil as he shot streaks of white all over himself and Phil’s desk. Phil kept stroking and pounding into him as long as he could before his own orgasm slammed up through his spine and bowled him over, sending him groaning into Clint’s cum-streaked chest as he snapped his hips in desperation.
Phil managed to hold onto just enough presence of mind to slide them both off of the hard desk and back into his desk chair, slipping out of Clint as he settled the man into his lap and cradled him close. They sat there, sharing in each other’s body heat and gradually steadying breath, until the sweat started to cool and Clint started squirming, cum drying on his stomach.
Before letting him up, Phil pressed a long, firm kiss to Clint’s chest, right over his heart. Mine to protect . They had a long, long conversation ahead of them, but that much Phil knew.
He eased Clint onto unsteady legs, bracing him against the desk as he tied off the condom and rooted around for some tissues and a bottle of water to gently clean Clint up. Everywhere he wiped down, he followed with a gentle press on lips, ending with Clint’s sweaty, tear-stained, drool-slicked face. He laid kiss after kiss onto Clint’s world-worn and scarred face, along his jaw, over his eyelids and across his temple, until Clint turned his head and captured Phil’s lips in a true kiss. Neither man moved to deepen the kiss, content to lean against Phil’s desk and hold each other and delay the use of words for a little while longer.
“Phil,” Clint breathed in the scant inch between them when they finally parted. His eyes were more open than Phil had ever seen them, so crystal blue and filled with wonder.
“Come home with me, Clint,” Phil said back against Clint’s lips. He had made a promise, and it was one he damn well intended to keep.
Clint’s face split into a slow, sure smile as he brushed his nose against Phil’s and leaned back into the desk. “You know you only ever had to ask, Phil,” he beamed, sending Phil’s own words back at him as he unabashedly posed against Phil’s desk, naked as the day he was born. Phil couldn’t help but run his hands down that tan, muscled torso one more time and drop another quick peck on those flushed lips before he stepped back, looking around the room.
“I really hope you didn’t cum on my paperwork.”